Always a Bird
by kryptoknight
Summary: Almost everyone who knows the story of Lazarus thinks of his resurrection as a miracle. Jason Todd disagrees. Lazarus died twice.
1. Chapter 1

Almost everyone who knows the story of Lazarus thinks of his resurrection as a miracle. Jason Todd disagrees. The Red Hood knows that with a second birth comes a second death. Dieing the first time was hard, he doubts that it gets any easier. The sound of resistance and a hard thud in the background let him know his work is done. Jason looks into the shocked eyes of his replacement, of his brother in arms if not in blood.

Jason cocks an arrogant grin, blood on his teeth, "A thank you would be nice Drake." Tim Drake still hasn't processed what has happened, he can tell. The boy stands there with a stupid lost look in his face unable to believe that Jason Todd had just taken a bullet for him when, just a year ago, he had tried to kill him.

A small gargle and a whispered, "Jason" is all that is heard.

Jason wants to walk away, but this time he knows he can't. Jason has a high threshold for pain, but even he has limits. The ability to be independent, to stand on his own, was always a point of pride for the street urchin that was still inside of him. That, more than anything is why it hurts when he falls face first onto the floor of the warehouse. . . Why did it always have to be a warehouse?

He can feel the vibrations in the floor and he knows that his family is coming for him, and if they are coming he is redeemed. The blood will never be washed off his hands, but he is no Pilot. He carries his guilt, his pain in recompense for the protection he affords the week and helpless. That, he reflects, is his greatest strength. It is not the path his father would have him take, but his job was necessary. Bruce could not carry the guilt, and Batman would not allow it, so Jason bore that cross.

As Jason Todd lies in his own blood, bullet in his back, he reflects on the events that led him to this moment. He thinks about lost baby birds, a broken bat, and a family that never was, but could have been. Hard hands roll him over as dead eyes look down at him. Bruce was broken far before Jason met him, but he can't help but think that now he's about to shatter, and that is wrong. His father is larger than life, imperfect, but he was always someone that Jason wanted to emulate.

Jason Todd was surrounded by family, a word that by all rights shouldn't have even made it into his messed up vocabulary. Two brothers and one father, all looking at him, and all Jason can think to say is, "it'll be. . . all right, just like last time." His family doesn't seem to think so. Tears in a bat's eyes are almost sacrilegious, to see so many at once is terrifying. Jason Todd believes that they will move on though, after all, they did the first time.

Jason can't help but wonder if it was Bruce or Batman that pulled him out of the rubble the first time. It is Batman who finds the strength to lift the Red-hood off of the floor and begins running towards the bat-mobile. Does it lookthe same now as it did then?

"Jason. . . " mutters Nightwing, "you'll be alright, we'll get you to the hospital." Of course he would be the only one who had something to say. He stands there, and Jason knows that Dick is Batman's golden bird for a reason. The light to Batman's darkness. Jason tried so hard to be Dick, but he was too much like the bat. Too stuck in the past, in his own tragedies.

Dickie-bird, it was funny really. Jason Todd had never really thought of Nightwing as a brother, but he had always used him as a measuring stick to his own success. Jason had admired the acrobat, and had always wanted to live up to the Robin that all Robins were compared to. He was still a Robin, even though he would never admit it, you never grew out of being a bird, or a bat. He has always been the strongest Robin, more broad and muscled than the first Robin. Jason Todd had hoped that someday his height and bulk would match his father. That's what Bruce was, he admitted, his father. At nineteen Jason Todd was not done growing, it was truly a shame that he would never reach his prime. This time being the strongest was enough to get the job done, but if he had been Dick Grayson he would have been fast enough to miss the bullet completely. Jason knows now, he will never truly measure up to Grayson, he will never get the chance, and God knows he had always wanted to.

Tim stood behind, hanging on the Bat's cape like a child to his mother's skirts obviously in shock. Jason caught his eyes "Why, why. . .why" all muttered in a distant whisper.

"You already know, kid." Jason coughs.

Jason is dying, he knows it, and so does Bruce. Jason knows that, despite wearing the cowl, it is Bruce, not Batman who is carrying him. It is his father, not his mentor or commander who is _holding his hand_. Right now, for the first time in a long time, Jason Todd is not a soldier. Jason Todd is a son and a brother saying goodbye to his family. And because of this Jason says the words he has wanted to say for a very long time, but always thought would sound like less of a man, less worthy of the man who raised him if they were said aloud, "love you Dad." Jason closes his eyes and lets the darkness over-take him. He doesn't get to hear Bruce's reply, he doesn't get to see his eyes as the cowl comes off. Maybe one act of heroism did not allow him to reclaim his soul, but he knew what was his. Even when living in the darkness Jason Todd had always been a protector, he did not regret dieing for family.

It felt good to stand in the light again, even if it was only for a little while.

**If I get enough reviews I will continue this. The next chapter will take place six months prior to these events. Not Mine. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Six Months Prior**

_"Scritch Scritch"_ The sound of something scratching the wall next door over the past few nights was slowly driving Jason Todd closer to the psychotic side of crazy. Jason Todd knew he was crazy. He was crazy before the Lazarus pit, before digging his way out of his own grave, before he was sold out to a madman by his own mother, almost beaten to death with a crowbar and blown up. If Jason was telling the truth, he knew he was in need of serious therapy even before he made an attempt to steal the tires off of the bat's precious wheels, but Jason Todd was not this brand of crazy. He may have been a bit Fruit Loopy, but he wasn't coo-coo for Co-Co Puffs.

He didn't scare innocent people to death with chemical agents, have henchmen who were penguins, want to turn Gotham into a giant popsicle, believe that plants should rule the earth, nor did he run around dressed as a homicidal clown. Hell, he didn't even dress up like a giant bat every night. Yet here he was, locked in Arkham, home of the incurably insane. This, more than anything else, told Jason Todd that the ever hypocritical Bruce Wayne and co. had given up on him. What Jason did at night was remarkably similar to what they did, and they were scared of the brutality, of what they feared they could become if pushed, and there was no doubt in their minds that Jason had been pushed. That certainty pissed the Hood off to no end, because the Hood was never a victim.

Jason popped one shoulder out of place as he began to do what was necessary to escape from his straight-jacket. It was beyond him why they had even bothered to place him in one, this was his third time getting out of it in as many days and he had made no other attempts at escape, knowing that if he waited long enough an opportunity would present itself. It was painful to escape from the harness, but being confined in that way led to bad memories that Jason would rather not focus on.

_"Scritch, Scritch" _

Batman was supposed to protect the innocent from the freaks. The only reason Jason could see for keeping the resident Jack the Rippers and knock off Scooby-Doo baddies that the Bats ritually locked in the nuthouse alive, was so that they could be resuscitated. Both Bruce Wayne and Batman knew that sending a criminal to the infamous asylum was a temporary solution to permanent problems that the city paid for in blood quarterly. Placing someone who had raped, robbed, or killed innocent people in jail, or an asylum, only to escape a month later was not justice, it was a bad joke.

"_Scritch, Scritch"_

Jason had offered another solution, a successful solution. A solution that had dropped the crime rate by 75 percent in crime alley. Though, this was not a way of solving problems that the bats were willing to approve of. The Red-Hood didn't stop crime, he re-directed and controlled it, all the while actively sneering at the antiquated morality of the bats, at their ability to fight the battle, but never take the steps necessary to end and win the war. They lacked the conviction to do what was necessary.

The underbelly of Gotham was bare and ready to be cut nose to navel. They were running scared, and there was no doubt that Jason knew more than a hundred bloody ways to skin that cat. A devils bargain, Jason was building his own purgatory, a fighting ground for lost souls that was completely under his control. There was a price to being the king of hell, Jason lost his humanity to the Hood, and he could feel its absence. Yet, he reveled in his victory, in his ability to do something that the Batman never could.

"_Scritch, Scritch"_

Admittedly, Jason knew that he had endured a few psychotic breaks between climbing out of his grave and his current place of occupancy. Trying to force the Bat to off the Clown was by far the most embarrassing. Trying to kill the replacement had also been an error of epic proportions. Although, in Gotham, it was only a matter of time before he was on the streets again. Really, the only damage that was done was that he had lost a few months in his ultimate goals.

Jason hit the wall, "Shut the hell up" he yelled as he heard a rustling on the other side of the wall. The scratching stopped as the rustling next door seemed to grow more agitated.

He took a deep breath as he leaned against the wall. For the hundredth time he took in his surroundings: A small padded cell that smelled of mildew and ammonia, fluorescent lighting and a small window looking out at what Jason was sure was a hallway that was equally horrible. Jason closed his eyes, hoping that the nightmares wouldn't take him, that he wouldn't be one of the screamers that night.

…...

When Jason arrived in that place between sleeping and waking he was shaken by an explosion on the cell in the opposite side of the wall. He rolled onto his bare feet in a way that only a large cat or someone with years of arduous training could as he stalked towards the window. Several smaller explosions rocked Arkham's foundations as the alarms began to scream. The flickering lights cast shadows over the Asylum's haunting halls until they went out entirely and the emergency lights began casting an eerie green glow on the two figures that were running down the corridor.

The panicked screams of the other patients deafened Jason. His heart was beating in his throat, he knew what happened next, what Arkham did when it was under attack. When he was a bird he memorized the protocols, the layout of the building and the ever rotating patient roster that read like the America's most wanted list. When this roach-motel was under attack they opened the doors. They let everyone try to get to safety. Jason counted backwards in his head trying desperately to count how many of the truly evil nut-bars were about to escape, trying to figure out when Gotham had last dealt with a major threat. After a quick mental head count Jason realized that what was about to be unleashed on Gotham was a killing spree that was not containable, not with the Bats more than twenty miles away.

The Batman and his birds were coming. Jason had no doubt that even Nightwing was flying in from Bludhaven. He also knew that they wouldn't get here in time.

Even at his darkest Jason Todd was a protector of innocents. Ironic, because he was never afforded the chance to _be_ innocent. He knew what he was going to do even as the bomb went off. Even without that though, this was a tempting opportunity. He didn't mind spending several more months waiting for his opportunity so long as he got this. They put him here because, to them, he was as evil and crazy as the villains they placed in here regularly. Because they thought he was one of _them. _Jason was going to do something that was decidedly not evil, in a way that Daddy Bats would not approve of. There was no doubt that if Jason's plan came to fruition Bruce Wayne would have many sleepless nights wondering if his philosophy was truly as honorable as he thought it was. Jason smirked, shoving the Bats' self-righteous platitudes down their throats was something he could live off of for years, even if he was locked in Arkham.

**I would like to thank everyone who reviewed the first chapter. You have given me the courage to continue this story. **

**Please keep reviewing.**


	3. Chapter 3

"**We're all Mad Here."**

The patients' doors groaned in protest as the ill-used hinges opened and the inmates slowly stumbled out of their doors. The emergency lights cast a sickly glow on the sickly skin of the inmates, many of whom had not seen daylight in years. Most were dazed, so lost in their own heads that they couldn't find their way out with a map and a compass. Yet there were others, many others, who moved with dangerous purpose. The Red-hood knew that all had to be viewed as a potential enemy. Arkham was a sentence, no one in the past fifty years had ever checked themselves into the asylum to be cured of their mental maladies.

The Hood took in his surroundings as he sprinted through the halls, mindful of his ultimate goal. For obvious reasons Arkham had been built like a prison. This did not necessarily benefit the patients recovery, most of the time it worsened their condition, but it allowed the staff that hadn't been bought off by its' inmates a certain amount of control. The room that held the security feeds were at the end of a third floor corridor, this room also controlled all of the electronic locks in the building. The Red-hood needed to take a head count before they started rolling.

The second floor windows revealed a curtain of fog that hid Arkham and its' horrors from the rest of Gotham. Jason opened the window and reached around the wall of the building, grabbing a pipe that ran up the side of the asylum. Jumping silently on the sill, Jason swung out locking one arm and leg around the metal pipe and then stilled, pinning himself between of the edge of the protruding window and the decorative edging. He tested its' ability to hold his weight as he pulled his body up with his arms, his wet, bare feet grasping for traction as he climbed to the next story.

As he shimmied up the pipe and balanced himself on the windowsill he tried to push open the glass. He cursed when it didn't open. The sound of his sleeve ripping off of his shirt echoed, Jason winced, hoping no one on the other side of the window had heard the noise. He wrapped his knuckles with the material and punched out the glass. "Here comes Alice through the looking glass." he breathed as he slid into the room, took two steps across the floor, and pulled the glass out of his uncovered feet.

There was no fear of being heard on this floor. Unlike the second floor the third floor was flooded with the screaming and panic of the nurses who had locked in their station. The patients on the second floor contained murderers and thieves, this was the only leeway that Jason received from the Bat when he was placed here. The second floor had hardened criminals with some brand of mental illness, but this floor held the serial-killers, the rapists, and anarchists. The crazies that ran around in costumes and thought that they were doing the world a favor by creating their brand of chaos had timeshares on this floor. Jason could tell by what he was seeing that many of them had already begun to march towards the exit. The world had just become their oyster.

Jason was glad that he was not marked as one of the Bat's past projects. Two-face, Harley Quinn, Penguin, Riddler, Scarecrow and many others were violently reacting to their freedom. If he had been a lonely bat, things would have gotten ugly. Jason was too late to save three or four of them, the orderlies who had actually tried to contain the patients. The rest had enough sense to lock themselves in the barred cubicle that held the medication. He did have more important things to worry about though. Containment had to be the ultimate goal. When lives were put in the balance, more would be lost if this crowd escaped. Even if every single person on staff was brutally murdered, it would not add up to the slaughter that would rack Gotham if they all managed to escape.

"Down the third corridor, fourth door on the left" Jason mumbled as he sprinted towards the control room, only to be thrown into a door by a huge wall of muck. The air was knocked out of him, Jason gasped and struggled to his feet, wrist sprained, eyes searching the hall for any tactical advantage that he could take advantage of as clay-face continued his assault.

The Hood dodged and spun, using all of his acrobatic ability and hand-eye coordination. Jason was fighting a meta-human in his pajamas, and he was made fully aware of the fact every-time the mud monster landed a hit. Defeating Clay-face was never a matter of strength, it was a matter of speed and out-thinking the opponent. Knocking over a cart in the narrow hall allowed Jason to gain some distance as his foe awkwardly moved his thick clumsy limbs through the mess. The hardened clay spikes that Clay-face was known for, whistled by his ears as he turned the corner. Jason glanced around the corridor, desperately hoping that Arkham hadn't changed the location of their safety measures.

The fire-hose hooked to the wall still lay there, Jason's holy grail, at this particular moment. Jason began pulling the hose off the real listening to muddy steps coming closer and closer. He began to struggle with the nozzle.

A wet thunk and a jerk of his shoulder made him look away from his task. The clay spike had gone almost completely through his shoulder. Clay-face advanced as the Hood continued to struggle with the hose, the water was turned on at full blast, but the water was delayed somewhere in the pipes. Jason glanced up, pain racing from his shoulder to every nerve in his body, he swung the hose into the behemoth as the monster began absorbing the hose into his form and lifting his arm in the way that some might to squash a bug.

Something astonishing then happened, astonishing because if Jason Todd did not have bad luck, he would have no luck at all. The hose filled with water and the clay form standing in front of him folded in on itself and began to lose consistency. Jason put his hand around his elbow and splashed through the muddy hallway, occasionally holding his arm out to the wall to steady himself as he tried to keep from jostling his shoulder, he finally reached his goal.

The control room was littered with security feeds and switches. Shutting and locking the door behind him, Jason walked with purpose, pressing several buttons and then sliding to a sitting position on the cold concrete floor, wincing as he felt the bone-deep bruises. He grasped the hardened clay that was in his shoulder and with a groan and a squelching noise pulled it out.

The gates and doors of Arkham were locked.

He had just locked two-hundred and fifty seven homicidal maniacs in a building with fifty-two civilians. People with families to go home to, people with dingy little apartments whose cat would be waiting for them to come home to feed them, people who had neighbors and barbeques and whatever the hell else that they did, and Jason didn't want them to die, but he knew what was in the balance. Jason knew that life was a scale, the weight of fifty-two deaths that were not his own bore down on him, just as the tragedies of every other person he had failed to save had. The Hood was also gripped with relief, The people of Gotham would sleep as safely as they usually did.

He looked back up at the monitors, no one would know what had truly happened this night. The asylum had cameras, but they didn't record anything, or at least they didn't five years ago. No one outside of Jason Todd would watch as the inmates used a desk as a battering ram, breaking through the door and killing the rest of the orderlies on this floor. No one would see the fear in the doctors eyes as he was pulled out from under his desk and beaten with the leg of a chair. No one would know how the inmates attacked each other indiscriminately, letting the blood pool at their feet. No one would know that Jason Todd, murderer, tire thief, retired, replaced and resurrected Robin who had become something much darker, had prevented hundreds of deaths in Gotham. That he had watched and experienced all of these things, and that he suffered for them.

A splash of sparkling glass showed up on the monitors. They were here. The two of them. They would miraculously solve the problem, then they would openly condemn him for his containment of it. Jason did what he had to. Tim would still see him as the bad guy, because Robins only see in black and white. Jason only saw in shades of gray and black. Jason was unable to afford to see the silver lining. Maybe he was the bad guy, but Bruce would know. He would know that Jason did what he had to, that Jason was trying to save Gotham. He would know that there were shades of gray, despite the rules and lectures he hands out like pennies to the salvation army at Christmas time. He would know, and it would hurt him, because in his own twisted way Jason Todd had a valid point and Bruce Wayne knew it.

The Bat and the Bird were splitting up, obviously moving to different parts of the asylum. Bruce would be heading here, to the control room. Someone had locked down Arkham, had made it through the fun-house on their own terms, and was smart enough to hack their system. He probably thought that whoever it was might be too much for the baby bird to handle if this person had malicious intent. After all, this was just the sort of party that the Joker would throw.

Jason followed both of their paths.

Tim Drake was running towards the nurses station on the first floor. He was clearing a path for the staff so that they could escape and they would escape they were twenty feet away from the front door and baby bird was doing an excellent job keeping the patients away from the exit. Jason observed and anticipated the path of Robin, he scanned all of the video that showed the encroaching shadows. His eyes watched Robin as he incapacitated three thugs that were trying to force their way out as a profile Jason would never forget began approaching the sidekick. Jason's worst nightmares, worst memories, were about to be reenacted on the small security screen . Jason's blood pumped through his open wound as he remembered a warehouse, a crowbar, and a scared, lost child digging his way out of his own grave, only to rest his tired bones against his own headstone.

Adrenaline pumping, he unlocked the door and pushed it open, knocking it into a Batman who, for the first time in Jason's presence, appeared extremely surprised.

"Jason?!"

Using a quickness of thought and improvisation skills that can only be bred into someone from a very young age, Jason plowed through him as he deftly pick-pocketed his grappling gun. While doing some quick calculations about the length of line he would need, he sprinted through the hall and curled into himself as he leaped out the window. He shot the grappling gun and swung himself through the window on the first story, landing in a heap amidst the glass on the floor.

"HE HA HA HA" The demented chuckle came from down the hall. Jason picked up a piece of glass, testing it's balance as he quietly easing his bare muddy feet towards the lobby.

"I'm not usually one for repeating the same punch-line twice, but some jokes are too funny to only be told once." the sound of metal hitting flesh was distinctive, and suddenly it was three years ago, and he was facing his death again, but Jason wasn't tied up this time, and he had spent a great deal of his resurrection thinking about what he would have done if things had been different the last time. Hatred so deep that the Hood had never felt it before flooded through his veins as the Joker yanked the young boy up by the top of his cape.

"Did Daddy Bats ever give you the disclaimer?" a cry of pain floated across the room as the Joker shook him. "The second Robin died the same way that you are about to die right now, except with more swear words, less whimpering, and more fire." A brief pause, " You want in on a little secret Rob? The last birdie, he impressed me. I beat him for over forty-five minutes before he was blown up. He never, ever gave up on the hope that the bat would return. He was a strong bird. The second Robin had more bite in him. I think I liked him better than even the first one, and certainly more than you."

The metal pipe was lifted above the Joker's head one more time as the Hood grabbed the Joker from behind and slit his throat. The wide eyes that had haunted him for so long closed in on him as they became unclear. He was just a man, but until that moment he had never thought of the Joker as "just" anything. There was no closure in this, but even with the adrenaline boost, he would not be able to beat the Joker in his current condition, so he took the easy road. The anticlimactic one, but perhaps that was for the best.

Jason squatted on the floor, dizzy from blood loss. He looked at Tim Drake, all black blue and red. Scooting closer he began examining the boy's head as gently as he could, looking for any outward signs of injury.

"Batman," the boy whispered, eyes closed " I knew you'd come. I knew you'd save me." Jason let out a tired sigh, "Did you get to the orderlies on the third floor in time?"

Jason knew he couldn't save everyone, but when he was Robin, he had believed that he could, and at that moment he hated both of them. He hated the Bat and the Bird for ascending, for being above feeling their own problems. For being selfless, For being so high in flight that they could look down on the world and see exactly how shallow everyone really was.

"Not this time." He groaned tiredly. Wishing that he could go back to this. Go back to valuing every life instead of measuring and looking for the option that offered the least collateral damage. Jason felt his hurt in a way that was so poignant he could smell it, and it wasn't fair. Jason had been a fool to think that he could be the light, that he could be Robin. He knew that now. Violence, poverty, addiction, hunger and hate were all that he knew as a child. To learn a way of life so opposite of his own was like talking to a parrot and expecting decent conversation. The most Jason would ever be able to do is go through the motions. He would never be good enough.

"It's not the Bat, bird-brain." He snapped arms and shoulder numb under so much pain.

"Why do you hate me so much Todd?" Robin let out in a wet groan " Why did you even save me? You were one of the reasons I wanted to become a Robin. I always wanted to meet you." The kid sounded so pathetic, like someone had told him that Santa wasn't real and that Super-man just wore a bullet proof vest and a jet-pack.

"Because I should have been the last one! NO ONE, should ever be put through what I was put through."

The shadows ascended. Darkness rose as Jason Todd once again stood in the shadow of the bat. He was in his shadow long before Jason donned cape or cowl. Being born in the narrows put you under Batman's protection, or rule, depending on how you looked at it, but Jason had always been defiant of rules, and Jason no longer wanted his protection.

Jason looked at the bat's empty eyes, "How many bats need to end up in wheelchairs? How many birds need to die? What will it take you to realize that kids shouldn't wear capes?"

Jason motioned to the bloody Robin, "You're supposed to protect your brainwashed ducklings. Look at him Bruce! Look at your sidekick." He growled, "The only reason your mini-me is still alive is because your black sheep felt sorry for the little replacement. I know what it's like to be waiting for the Batman to save me. I'll never count on Batman to save me again." He wouldn't either. The whole idea of the Hood was that he didn't need anybody. That he could stand and strive without support.

The Batman stared, impassive. Jason had always hated talking to him in that cowl. He had no emotions when he wore it. J Somehow, Bruce had always been able to make him feel ashamed of his outbursts.

Jason looked at the now dead man who had tortured him, who had killed him, and he realized that he never needed to kill the Joker, he realized that while Jason Todd could not ascend, he could climb, he could reach and he would eventually find a way to rise above others without the advantage of wings. He didn't feel remorse, he had saved Drake, after all, and when thinking of all the damage Joker had done, he knew it needed to be done, but the Batman couldn't do it.

He would have said more, but Jason was tired though, so tired. He had given everything he had, and every ounce of adrenaline he had felt like it was leaving his body. Jason fell to the ground, comforted in the knowledge that when he woke up, the Bat would leave him in the asylum, alone. They'd lock him up in his cozy little cell and he'd get a few months of uninterrupted bed rest, which sounded pretty good at the moment.

**Give me a clue,**

**Please Review**


	4. Chapter 4

**To The Bat-cave Robins!**

Dick Grayson stalked through the bat-cave, grimacing at the night of work that lay ahead of him. When Bruce had sent him a message in Bludhaven about the Arkham breakout he knew things were going to get ugly, but he wanted to know how deep the other Bats were before taking a dive off the high board.

The monitors, the only source of lighting in the empty cave, were flashing through the images at Arkham. Bruce had hijacked the feed for 'round the clock surveillance a year ago. A distressed Alfred stood silently watching the events in the asylum unfold.

"Alfred?" he looked at the Butler who had been like a grandfather to him. He had tears in his eyes as he kept staring at the screens. "What's going on? How did they contain the inmates at Arkham so quickly? Why aren't they on the streets?" Alfred's silence spoke volumes.

Fearing the worst, Nightwing, focused on his goals, slid into the black leather chair facing the screens, leaning forward, hands stretched over the keyboard as he began focusing lenses , trying to find his family. Bloody images of Arkham inmates played on the monitors like a monstrous Greek tragedy, minus the chorus.

Nightwing's world descended into a specific computer screen, confused as he saw the Joker, throat cut, lying broken on the floor. Bruce, the Batman, prince of Gotham, Dark Knight and protector was on one knee, back presented to the camera _Joker's cut throat_. He was cradling something, _Bruce breaking his only rule_. The Bat lifted a prone body off the ground, Dick tried to put the pieces together, sequences of logic flitting through his mind left him gasping for breath in the cave, _Robin, baby bird. . . __**Timmy**_.

His heart stopped cold in his chest as he realized that there was only one thing that could make Bruce Wayne break his rules, _Vengeance. _Grayson had carried grief before, but he was beginning to wonder if death and trials followed the name Robin like a shadow. Perhaps it was inescapable. Every one of them had a tragic past. Maybe the only reason he was still breathing is that he flew under a different name. His eyes watered and he looked at the screen, praying for any sign that Bruce might turn around, that his conclusion was inaccurate.

Alfred's hand rested on Dick's shoulder. The old man met his eyes and gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze before gesturing to another corner of the consul that focused on Arkham's driveway. Tim Drake was driving the Batmobile towards the front doors of the asylum.

"Who. . ." Alfred's misty eyes flitted to the screen, Dicks followed as they began watching the Bat turn, a bloody young man, no older than twenty in his arms.

"Alfred? What. . . happened?" Nightwing's brain was firing on all cylinders, and he didn't like the conclusions he was coming up with, "That can't be who I think it is?"

"I'm afraid so, young Master Grayson." the old man croaked as they watched Batman lovingly place his prodigal son in the Batmobile as Robin strapped him in and put pressure on his shoulder wound. "I suppose I should prepare the medical equipment." Alfred walked up the stairs, "our boy is coming home." The sparkle in Alfred's eyes said everything. Alfred had always had a connection to Jason that not even Bruce had.

Knowing that he would get no further information from Alfred, Dick began to go through the footage, watching amazed as Jason pushed through his pain and injuries in a way that none of the Batclan had ever really managed with the same success that Jason did. Jason had saved a large portion of Gotham from the horrors that it was going to face. He had saved Timmy. He had killed the Joker, and despite the fact that he knew his mentor would disapprove Dick applauded the fact that someone had put that homicidal clown in the ground. The ever straight laced Dick Grayson, almost wished that he had been the one to do the honors.

Dick's guilt began to rule him as he remembered the short time that he had known Jason. He had kept Bruce at an arms-length in those days, and he had little to no real contact with Jason. Bruce himself may have taken in and raised the boy, and Jason did look up to Bruce as the parental figure that he had never had. However, Dick knew that Jason had never really felt familial love, and it broke his crime-fighting heart. Up until his death Jason had not been a part of the family, he had been a part of the cause that kept Bruce's dirty little secret in the basement full of very violent playthings. To Dick's eternal shame, it had taken his death to make the whole bat-family realize their own mortality, and to realize how exceptional Jason Todd really was.

Jason was a street urchin to the bone, he never fit in at the fancy parties or school that he was sent to. His mannerisms, accent and language patterns had come straight from the Gotham Gutter. Yet, Jason was brilliant, he was far more resourceful than any other bat. He was generous to the core and had a sense of justice that matched Bruce'. Dick had assumed this was because he had spent so many years making something out of nothing. Jason was Gotham at its' heart. Rough on the outside, and yet there was always potential and hope waiting underneath the rough exterior that he showed to the world.

He had tried to atone for his mistakes by mentoring the current Robin, but he knew that he could never make up for the isolation that Jason must have felt in the sprawling manor. Bruce always at his meetings and Alfred always at work. Living in a social circle that scoffed at him or pitied him in turn.

Dick had lived through the same ordeal, yet he still hadn't helped his brother. Not only that, Dick had advantages that Jason could never have. Jason could lie very well, but unlike Dick who was raised as a performer, he could not stop being Jason for the crowds. Even his Robin persona was so close to Todd that it amazed Dick that he had fooled anyone. Jason Todd was the Genuine article, a take it as is (or leave it the hell alone) deal. Dick respected and liked that about Jason Todd.

The Bat-mobile rolled in the cave, black tires smoking from their ordeal. Bruce hopped out of the car and pulled off his cowl as he lifted Jason out of the car. Carefully putting his body on the hospital gurney that had been bought specifically for this purpose. Tim climbed out of the car behind them, yellow cape covered in the blood of Jason and the Joker.

Alfred's hurried steps could be heard coming down the steps as he moved to the bedside of a very injured young man. Tonight was going to be a long night for the whole family.

. . .

Jason kept his eyes closed as he listened to his heart monitor and felt the standard hospital sheets below him on the uncomfortable hospital bed. He sighed in relief. For the next several months in Arkham he would be allowed a certain amount of mobility for his physical therapy sessions. He would no longer be confined to solitary. It would be a nice change of pace. When he finally got out of here he knew he wanted to make some changes.

Jason would leave Gotham. He didn't need to spend all of this time in the bat's city. It was long past time to leave the nest and find his own place. There was really no reason to keep straying into old stomping grounds to prove a point. He didn't need to prove himself to Bruce Wayne, he didn't owe an explanation to anyone.

Short crisp steps approached the bed. "Welcome home Jason."

Eyes firmly shut, Jason growled, "Al? Please tell me that we are in Arkham and that you are just visiting."

The old butler chuckled, "I'm afraid not Master Todd. If you would just sit up so I can take a look at those stitches?"

"Don't call me Master Todd." Jason grumbled as he leaned forward. "We're way past that Al."

The old man was the only thing that Jason would admit that he missed from his Robin days. In many ways Alfred had been Jason's closest confidante and friend during that time. A surrogate grandfather or even a father when Bruce's attentions were placed elsewhere, Jason trusted Alfred in a way that he had never trusted anyone else. They shared a bond, and they had much in common. Alfred Pennyworth had been born in the slums, a poor child in a poor city. Jason had spent many an afternoon following the old butler and helping him with the chores around the mansion, despite his frequent protests. To Jason the old man was much more than just a part of the family. Alfred was a secret keeper, a hero in his own right.

Jason winced as the skin around the wound pulled against the stitches, "Missed you Al."

Pennyworth quietly nodded as he intently re-bandaged the wound and put a sandwich in Jason's good hand, knowing that he could not eat soup on his own and that he would not be hand-fed.

Jason's eyes were drawn to the man coming down the stairs, still wearing cape and cowl. The Batman, in all his glory was marching towards him, his Batlings trailing behind him like ducks in a row.

Alfred adjusted the bed to a sitting position and motioned for him to eat. Jason nodded his appreciation as Alfred winked at him and left the room.

Jason, deciding that he was not going to be the first to speak, took a huge bite out of his ham sandwich and focused on eating. The Hood was well aware that three highly trained fighters were watching him with wary interest, waiting for him to make the first move, but this was their party. He was just waiting to hit the pinata and get his goody bag before hitting the road.

"Jason, you did a good job tonight. You contained the problem and saved a lot of lives." Bruce spoke as if he were somewhere else, disconnected from the situation.

Tim reeled, "You're kidding right? He just locked fifty homicidal psychos in a building where they were cutting off each others' extremities, and you think that he did a good job? Twenty-five of the staff died tonight" Jason internally cringed at the number, shoulders slumping with great weight as he outwardly grinned in satisfaction at the squeamish look on the boy blunder's face.

"Yup, little bird. I'd do it again too." Tim was about to blow his top when Nightwing intervened.

"He did an amazing job Tim. Jason contained the threat. He saved hundreds of lives tonight."

"He killed people! You're on his side?"

Jason interupted, knowing that having a conversation on morality with a Robin was like arguing with a particularly stubborn five year old "No kid, he just feels guilty."

Jason was tired of the run-around, and he was sick of the ethics and lectures that had been pushed onto him since adolescents. Jason couldn't save everyone, he knew he couldn't. So he would save as many as he could, even if he had to bloody his soul to do so. The Batman never seemed to understand that.

"Morals aren't the paintings on the walls at the mansion, Bruce." The hood snarled, "They can't be re-framed whenever you decide to redecorate. I killed people tonight, and frankly, I can't promise that I won't do it again. When civilian lives are in the balance, I will kill those who put them in danger. I will choose the innocent every time over the scum you keep throwing in Arkham." Jason gave a wicked grin, "When the coyotes get in the hen-house you kill them Bruce. You don't put it in a poorly fenced yard, keeping it around the farm until it gets out... again."

Jason sighed, he would never see eye to eye with Bruce, and much of what he had said was incoherent, but he believed he had gotten his point across. Jason was tired, sore, and unable to stomach this visit from the bat.

"There are shades of gray Bruce. There is no absolute right, and even though you have lived a hard life, you will never understand what I have been through. You see the world in absolutes, you don't bend the rules, you don't break them. When you have lived on both sides of the fence you know when it is necessary to jump them. You haven't lived on the other side of the fence Bruce." Jason sighed, feeling the work of the night previous. "Take me back to the asylum Bruce. I don't belong here. I never have, I never will, and I never want to."

"You're a hero Jason." The bat said evenly. "This is exactly where you belong, where you have the tools necessary to help others."

"With several stipulations," Jason sighed. "I'll never be the kind of hero you want me to be Bruce. It's time to let me go."

"You havn't killed in months, with the exception of tonight. Even I can see that what you did to save Tim was necessary." Bruce's eyes had hope in them "Come home Jason."

"Not on your life."

**I tried to focus on Dialogue in this chapter. Tim's voice is supposed to sound academic, Bruce's sullen and distant, while Jason's is rife with dry humor, metaphors and sarcasm. Dick always seemed like a bit of a bleeding heart to me, and I think it shows. I really had a hard time getting into Grayson's head and presenting his point of view. Let me know how I did and if you agree to the characterization.**


	5. Chapter 5

**The Not so Great Escape**

The silence in the cave was deafening, as Jason both literally and figuratively turned his back on Bruce Wayne and his ill-begotten crusade to save Gotham from itself. The silence stretched it's fingers through the cave hitting nerves and plucking the strings of patience as it reached into the minds of the occupants in the room. Jason was tired of this game, but he wasn't ready to comply to the rules of Bruce Wayne or Batman. The wards of Bruce Wayne were men of action and the vigilante could not forgive the inaction of his father and mentor.

"You'll stay here until you are well." growled Bruce. "If you haven't changed your mind we'll send you back."

"You can't stop me from leaving." Jason leaned back on the cot knowing the sedative Alfred had put into his tuna sandwich would put him to sleep soon, but not blaming the man for his actions. "You don't have enough eyes."

Batman paused on the stairway, burdened shoulders weighed down for all the world to see, "I'm sorry Jason, I never meant. . ." Bruce Wayne sighed, the sound echoed through the cave as he trudged up the steps. "It doesn't have to be this way." he whispered as he gripped the railing.

Jason didn't answer, he didn't owe him any answers. His nightmares caught him as darkness edged his vision.

The study in the manor had not been used frequently since the death of Thomas Wayne. The room had, in many ways, been untouched since Bruce was a child. There were few places in the house left so unchanged in the last twenty years. No doubt due to the propensity of the heir of the Wayne fortune to spend his darkest hours in the study. The death of his parents, the loss of his past life, Dick's permanent departure to Bludhaven, and Jason's death, all had been marked by a grief stricken Bruce Wayne's isolation in his late father's study. The Bat-cave was the result of grief, the study was the home of that grief.

Bruce sat and glared pensively out the windows. The rain was not letting up, nor was his conscience. On nights like these only the most determined monsters would plague Gotham, and both Bruce and Batman had more pressing issues inside their own territory that needed to be dealt with. His soldier, his ward, his son, was home at last.

Bruce had once told Jason that he was his biggest mistake. He still stood by that, but not for the reasons that his wayward son thought. Bruce knew that he had not been to Jason what he needed to be. Dick and Barbara already had parents, a father, a mother, a family. While he loved them both dearly, all he had ever needed to be for them was a mentor, a teacher. Jason had needed so much more from him. It was really no wonder that Jason had gone off the deep end.

Yet, the vigilante from humble origins had done something that Bruce never could. Jason had killed the Joker. Looking back, he wished he had. Jason had killed the Joker, not in vengeance, but as acting protector of Tim Drake, a boy who Jason had beaten bloody not that long ago. Bruce would always wonder if Jason Todd was in the right. Batman had mentored young heroes in the past, he always gave them the same advice, "don't count your failures, count your successes." Batman was a hypocrite. Batman knew every face, every name of every person that had suffered against his enemies. The bat lived in his failures.

The doors to the study slammed open revealing a very pissed off Dick Grayson, "Jason was alive and you didn't tell me? You locked him in Arkham?"

The brooding knight sat silently in his chair looking out the long window that had a view of the rain poring out over Gotham, "the Jason that you knew was dead. He was no longer Robin, I didn't see how it really affected you Dick. You weren't particularly interested in him when he was here."

Dick spun the office chair around to face him placing his hands on the arms of the chair "Jason was more than Robin, don't you dare pretend otherwise." Nightwing closed his eyes in resignation, "You made him a part of this family Bruce. I. . . every one of us was effected by his death, not just you!"

"Yes," Bruce muttered, "and it is going to hurt just as much when he leaves again."

"We could convince him to stay. He is your son, Bruce." Nightwing pleaded.

"We both know that won't happen any time soon."

"So, that's it? You're just giving up on him." Dick's eyes turned sharp and dangerous, "I can't even look at you right now."

Richard Grayson's silent footsteps went unheard as he stormed out of the study, leaving an emotional Bruce Wayne shaking with suppressed emotion in his chair.

Facilitating the escape of Jason Todd was not Tim Drake's idea of a fun evening. Drake, however, knew that Bruce would not release Jack the Ripper on the public nor, would he let his too long absent son out of his sight. Tim saw the danger that Jason represented to the bat family on the streets, but felt that the damage would be much worse with him in their midst. Bruce had been cuckolded, fooled into taking in a child who was not made of the same righteousness as his other partners.

When Dick spoke of Jason, he spoke of a boy who was strong. The respect in Dicks voice told of equality, something Tim had never had as a Robin. No, Tim had always been sent home when things were at their most dangerous, and he could appreciate that. Tim was not a fighter, his IQ was off the charts, and this alone is what made him an asset to the Bat. It set him apart, it also isolated him from the others. In many ways Jason Todd was still more Robin than he, despite his foray into the Lazarus pit and multiple psychotic breaks. Tim had once seen the greatness in Jason Todd. The third Robin had tried to be like him, he was an example, a guiding light. Most importantly he was a martyr, someone who had died for the cause. Tim Drake now realized that, like all martyrs, Jason Todd had been placed on a pedestal. His shadow was long, and no one would ever be able to fill the shoes of the Jason Todd that Batman found in Crime alley.

The security feed in the Batcave was disabled for the next thirty seconds, that was all he needed. Robin cut through one of the restraints with Jason's boot knife, pulled a needle out of his utility belt and pushed down the plunger. He wrapped Jason's still limp hand around the knife and disappeared into the shadows.

Tim watched as Jason slowly awoke. Obviously still hazy from blood loss, Jason cut through the remaining bonds himself. Once the last strap was cut, Tim came out of the shadows, eying Jason, as he took stock of his injuries. Tim stared at Jason as he stared back, giving him an understanding look as he moved towards the waterways underneath the manor.

Tim could hear his labored breathing as Jason scurried through the sewer system like the rat he was. Once the noises faded Tim pulled the alarm, re-establishing the security system as he left the cave himself.


End file.
